Peter laughed, setting down his tools. "Hey, I was trying to fix the shelf you broke last week, remember?"
Miles rolled his eyes. "That was one time! And for the record, that shelf was already loose."
"Sure it was," Peter said, smirking. "Next time, I'm putting your name on it so everyone knows who to blame."
Miles grinned. "Go ahead. I'll just tell them Spider-Man did it."
Peter gave him a playful glare. "You wouldn't."
"Try me," Miles said with a laugh before heading toward the dining area. "Come on, we've got lunch to serve."
Peter followed, shaking his head with a smile. The two of them worked side by side, passing out plates, cracking jokes, and helping the volunteers where they could. It felt natural — easy. For the first time in a long while, Peter didn't feel the constant weight of guilt pressing down on him.
As the crowd thinned out and the noise died down, Peter leaned on the counter, wiping his hands with a towel. "You've gotten good at this," he said to Miles. "You might put me out of a job."
Miles shrugged. "Nah, man. You're the reason I started helping here in the first place. I just kept it going."
Peter gave a small, proud smile. "That's good to hear."
Before either of them could say more, MJ walked in through the doors, camera slung over her shoulder. "There you are," she said, spotting Peter. "I got the photos printed. You should see the one of you helping that little kid earlier — might be my favorite."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're turning this into a story, aren't you?"
"Of course," she said, smiling. "People need to see what this place is doing — what you're doing."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not really the headline type, MJ."
"Maybe not," she said, "but sometimes people need to be reminded that Spider-Man isn't just about fighting bad guys. He's also Peter Parker — the guy who fixes shelves, serves food, and gives people hope."
Miles smirked. "Yeah, you're like the city's friendly neighborhood handyman now."
Peter chuckled. "Guess there are worse titles."
Just then, Lumia and Max entered through the side door. Lumia was carrying a box of supplies, and Max trailed behind, scrolling through a news feed.
"Hey," Peter called out, walking over. "Didn't expect to see you two here."
Lumia smiled. "We thought you could use a little help." She handed him the box. "Medical kits and food donations — figured FEAST could always use more."
Peter took it gratefully. "Thanks. You didn't have to, but I appreciate it."
Max looked up from his phone. "Li's name came up again," he said quietly. "Somewhere downtown. Nothing solid yet, but looks like he's keeping low."
Peter's expression turned thoughtful. "Good. Maybe that means he's trying to find control."
"Or regroup," Max said.
Peter nodded. "Either way, I'll be ready."
Lumia placed a hand on his arm. "You don't have to do it alone, Peter. You've got people now."
He looked at her, then at the others — MJ, Miles, Max. All of them smiling, standing there in the sunlight pouring through the windows.
For once, the idea of not being alone didn't scare him. It felt right.
He smiled softly. "Yeah," he said. "I know."
The rest of the day passed quietly. People came and went, laughter filled the halls, and the smell of food carried through the air. Outside, the city kept moving — loud, messy, unpredictable — but inside FEAST, there was peace.
As evening settled, Peter stepped out onto the steps, watching the sunset glow across the skyline. MJ was packing her camera, Miles was locking up the kitchen, and Lumia and Max were saying goodbye to a few of the volunteers.
Peter took a deep breath, feeling the cool breeze against his face. He smiled — not the tired kind he used to wear, but a real one.
The sky above New York burned in shades of amber and violet as the sun dipped below the skyline. The day at FEAST had wound down — laughter still echoed faintly from inside, the lingering warmth of shared meals and quiet purpose filling the air.
Peter leaned against the railing, watching the city lights flicker to life. For once, there was no siren, no looming shadow waiting to strike. Just peace — fragile, but real.
Then he heard familiar voices behind him.
"Yo, Parker!"
Peter turned just in time to see Flash Thompson stride out, wearing his usual grin, balancing two cans of soda. "You didn't think we'd let the night end without a reunion, did you?"
MJ followed right after, camera still hanging from her neck, with Miles laughing beside her. Lumia and Max stepped out next, carrying a few bags that definitely looked like takeout. And behind them, walking with a quiet smile, was Harry Osborn.
For a second, Peter froze — then his expression softened. "Harry," he said, voice catching slightly. "You made it."
Harry chuckled, stepping forward to pull him into a quick, brotherly hug. "Wouldn't miss it. Norman's been… busy, so I had time to get away."
"Good to see you, man," Miles said, giving him a quick fist bump.
Lumia set the food down on the steps, grinning. "We figured you could use something better than cafeteria leftovers. Feast-style dinner party, Spider-Man edition."
Max smirked. "Don't give her all the credit — I picked the spot."
MJ laughed. "You mean you just ordered from the first place that popped up on your feed."
"Efficient," Max said with a shrug.
Peter chuckled and shook his head, sitting down on the steps. "You guys really didn't have to do all this."
"Of course we did," Flash said, cracking open his soda. "After everything that's happened — Mr. Negative, the city falling apart, you disappearing for months — it's about time we all sat down like normal people."
"Normal," Peter repeated with a smile. "That's a word I haven't heard in a while."
Lumia sat beside him, nudging his arm. "Then start getting used to it again."
For a while, they just ate, talked, and laughed. Stories spilled out like light — Miles teasing Peter about his outdated web shooters, MJ recounting her most awkward interview, Flash insisting he could've been Spider-Man if he'd just "had the right genes."
Harry, quieter than the rest, looked at them all — the way they laughed, the way Peter smiled without forcing it. "You know," he said softly, "I think this is what Aunt May wanted. Not just for you to keep saving the city, Pete — but to have this. People who keep you grounded."
Peter looked at him for a moment, eyes glinting in the warm streetlight. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I think she'd be proud of all of us."
Miles raised his soda can. "To Aunt May — the real hero."
***
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